


At the End of a Long Day

by anonstreet98



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Poor Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27101944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonstreet98/pseuds/anonstreet98
Summary: At the end of a rough day, all Arthur wants to do is sleep.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	At the End of a Long Day

"The hell you done this time?" Bill called out as he caught sight of Arthur riding through Shady Belles rusting gates. Mud was caked over every inch of the huge bay and it's rider, drying to a crusty shell in the midsummer sun. 

"Micha. Agian." Arthur growled, dismounting to lead his horse into the camp. "Causing shit in the Bayou." He hitched his mare to the closest post to camp, removing her saddle and setting to brushing her down carefully - after breaking out a bucket and some water to get through the worst. The sun had set by the time Arthur finished, the mud adding what felt like a ton to his heavy limbs as he picked the last clumps of muck free of Two Pennies' hooves. 

Letting his faithful companion join the camps horses, Arthur took a moment to stretch out his sore muscles. His side throbbed as he lifted his arms above his head, silently cursing Micha. Single mindedly he set out for the little, decrepit room in the big house that was his own - longing to get horizontal for a few hours before something or someone showed up.

It wasn't until he felt his collar being tugged did Arthur realise Susan had been talking to him.Her greying hair pinned atop in its usual messy bun, once beautiful dress billowing behind her as she dragged the outlaw along like a temperamental child.  
"… filthy and reeking to high heaven. You didn't even have the decency to stop for a bath in Saint Denis." 

  
"Have too much money for a hotel." Arthur replied meekly as he was nearly dumped headfirst into the water filled basin, the old ragged face of the plantation house looming over them. Who actually chose to live in a swamp was beyond him. Defences be damned.

  
"You carry enough guns for an army, don't give me that bullshit." Arthur reluctantly let himself be handled like a child. Sluggishly he scrubbed his face and hair before pulling off his clothes, hissing as the events of the day hit him.

"Arthur. Look at you, you're a mess." Susan chided. "Blue, black, and nothing but skin and bones. Just look at your ribs."

"Thank you Miss Grimshaw."

She gently inspected the mass of brusing were his side had connected with the edge of the wagon. He needed to grow wings with how often people had taken to throwing him.

"What happened?"

  
"Micha got a lead on a weapons transport. More guards than he expected. One real big feller, managed to pick me up."

  
Grimshaw took over cleaning, carefully wiping down his abused body. Normally he'd bridle at such mothering, but he was slowly loosing the battle to stay awake. He fumbled into some fresh clothes before trying to make his way into the house. He was going to call it quits and sleep in the stairwell at this rate.

  
"Arthur Morgan, you aren't going anywhere." Sighing heavily, Arthur turned back. He was a wanted man, he had killed people. He didn't take this kind of treatment. He would tell her where to stick it.

  
"Yes ma'am " 

  
Well, maybe not today.

  
"You're going to have some dinner then sleep. I'll be telling Dutch you aren't going anywhere for a couple of days." Hah, as if.

  
"Miss Grimshaw-"

  
"No arguments Mister Morgan." Resigning himself to his fate, Arthur took up a spot by the campfire, glaring balefully at the flames as he lent agianst the log, shoulder brushing agianst Hosea's knee.

  
"Yeah you act all tough Morgan but I know you." Grimshaw shot off as she swept away. He tried to ignore Bill and John's laughter. Hosea just shook his head like a father, and Arthur was feeling more of the thirteen year old that the old man had picked up than his thirty something self. How old _was_ Hosea? How old _was_ Dutch? Abagail brought him some of Pearsons stew and Hosea passed him a beer.

  
"You're hardly ever here anymore." Karen remarked as she took up a post next to the gunslinger. She patted Arthurs shoulder before stealing a long pull of his beer.

  
"Give that back you drunk." Karen scoffed, handing him back the half-empty bottle.

  
"Oh, you is mean and tough Arthur Morgan." He just huffed, turning to the lottery of pain or pleasure that was Pearsons cooking. As he took a bite, he preyed it was the stuff he'd brought from the butcher and not that mangy, lame deer he'd shot to save a slow death.

  
Regardless, Arthur found he was starving, digging into his meal ravenously. Good, bad?   
It wasn't around long enough to be either.  
"So where is Micha?" Hosea asked, quietly.   
Arthur downed his remaining beer before accepting another from Karen. 

  
"Wounded pride, got thrown when he got too close to a gator." Hosea snorted and Arthur couldn't help but smirk. Watching that filthy little rat yelp and squirm in that feited mud had been worth getting shot at.

  
Javier brought out his gutair and began to play and sing softly, while Arthur stared into the fire, lying stretched out on his uninjured side. Full, warm and lulled by alcohol, it wasn't long before he'd dozed off. Hosea smiled to himself, dragging a wolfskin off the log onto his sleeping son.

**Author's Note:**

> A little piece I found in my wips, its not much but I want to come and work with Arthur . He's my favourite protag in everything ever. Anywho, hope you enjoyed.


End file.
